


Perfectly Imperfect

by JainDo



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:22:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23165425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JainDo/pseuds/JainDo
Summary: Jai'galaar'la sur'haii'se - colloquially known as Jaig eyes - were a Mandalorian sigil bestowed by clan leaders as a mark of honor, awarded for particular acts of bravery to soldiers who had distinguished themselves in battle.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Perfectly Imperfect

The blonde man observed the door with a trepidation he should not feel while his fingers drummed against the bottom rim of his helmet - white and unmarked save for the blue trim matching the rest of his armor. A steady stream of men looking exactly like him save for their dark hair passed through the doorway as if it were no big deal. Despite sharing their appearance, the blonde man didn’t recognize a single one. 

“What are you doing here?” a voice growled, making him jump. Though not a clone voice, it was familiar all the same. 

“Sergeant Kotyc, sir,” the blonde clone said, body reflexively snapping to attention. 

“I thought I told you I never wanted to see your ugly blonde _shebs_ back in Tipoca, Platoon Sergeant CT-7567.” CT-7567 knew the sergeant’s gruffness was just a show - the simple fact that the old man had remembered his designation was evidence of that. Though the hair probably helped some, too. 

“Yessir, you did, sir,” 67 said, feeling as awkward and foolish as he had when he was the same age as the gaggle of young cadets blinking curiously at him from behind the greying sergeant. 67 reminded himself that he was now a battle-hardened soldier with no reason to fear the older man. He relaxed his shoulders, but still maintained a respectful posture. This was the man who had taught him everything, after all. “I’ve been selected for the ARC Officer Program, sir.” 

“ARCOPs?” The sergeant raised a grey eyebrow which was intersected by a trio of parallel scars marring the right side of his face - a parting gift from a nexxu, he had once told the impressionable cadets of 67’s squad. The scarred old man raised both brows when his gaze alighted on the new rank insignia attached to 67’s chestplate. “When I kicked your _shebs_ off this manda-forsaken planet, you were still just a pitiful sergeant. But now a lieutenant, eh? How’d you manage that?” 

“Battlefield promotion, sir, on Geonosis. I wound up in charge of the battalion.” 

“The whole battalion? How many good-for-nothing, shiny _sheb’d_ , wet behind the ears officers had to die for that to happen?” 

“All of them, sir.” 67 looked at the floor instead of his sergeant’s expressive eyebrows. “Within the first few minutes. I was the highest ranked clone left in the battalion.” 67 glanced back up at his scarred training sergeant. “I completed the objective, sir, with few further casualties.” 

The sergeant grunted in response, rolling his bottom lip between thumb and forefinger as was his habit when considering something. Overhead, a chime sounded followed by a soft, monotone voice announcing "last call for ARCOPs." 

“Thank you, Sergeant Kotyc, sir, for all your training,” 67 said, giving his old sergeant a formal salute before stepping away. 

“You’re not dismissed yet, CT-7567.” The blonde man halted mid-stride before turning back with a deep, steady inhale. “ _Buy’ce_ ,” the sergeant barked, holding out his hand. 67 bit back a sigh but dutifully handed over his helmet as ordered. “Blue, eh?” the sergeant said, pulling from his thigh pouch a paint pen in a similar shade to the blue trimming the rest of 67’s armor. 

“For the 501st, sir,” 67 explained, glancing nervously at the door. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t want to be late…” 

“Go on then,” the sergeant said, handing back the helmet, his work done. 67 took it without looking at the design until he was halfway across the room, and when he did he nearly dropped it. He turned back to the grizzled sergeant with a feeling of disbelief. The old man simply raised his mismatched eyebrows and made a shooing motion before directing his attention to the squad of cadets who had patiently and silently watched the whole exchange. But when the sergeant turned away, 67 swore he saw the hint of a proud smile on the weather beaten face. A similar smile began to spread across 67’s face as he glanced again at the twin triangular markings now adorning the front of his helmet just above the visor. With a buoyant feeling in his chest, 67 sprinted the rest of the distance to the closing doors, managing to slip inside just before they closed. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Not to be a giant tease, but please go ahead and subscribe to this fic if you've enjoyed it and are interested in a Codex friends-to-lovers and back again slowburn-ish quasi-vignette series that I've had simmering on the back burner for awhile. This was self-contained enough to post as a oneshot/teaser while I finish the rest of the fic. I don't have an ETA for the next chapter yet because I don't want to post updates until the whole thing is ready or at least nearly ready to go (it'll be soonish, I swear). Content warnings and rating will be changing as well once the next chapter goes up.


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